


there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

by k0skareeves



Series: from eden [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Forbidden Love, Priest Kink, Romance, Sexual Content, Sins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25059595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k0skareeves/pseuds/k0skareeves
Summary: He whispers to himself, again and again, her name more sacred to him than any prayer.Sansa, Sansa, Sansa.or the one where Jon is the town's priest and Sansa is his brother's widow.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark/Aegon VI Targaryen (mentioned)
Series: from eden [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1814944
Comments: 25
Kudos: 97





	there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [willowycreature](https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowycreature/gifts), [SansaRegina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SansaRegina/gifts), [vivilove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/gifts), [charmtion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmtion/gifts).



> this is a gift to everyone who asked me for more priest!Jon, especially my four sinful darlings: vivi, yulia, mani and charm. this wouldn't be possible without you, babes!! <3

Jon’s life has been decided for him even before his birth. 

If you’re a bastard in the small town of Snowfall, then you’re a Snow. If you’re a bastard in the small town of Snowfall, then you either help out at the parish and later join the seminary, to maintain some sort of dignity, or you live a life of crimes and depravity, ending up as a beggar in the streets. Jon may be a Snow, yes, but he is still Rhaegar Targaryen’s son, and no son of him would be a dishonor, not even the one born from sin. So his path has been decided for him since he was nothing more than a peanut inside his mother's womb. Things might have been different if this isn’t Snowfall, but Jon’s mama dies at childbirth, so at Snowfall he stays, with a cruel father, a stepmother and two half siblings, and he has a somewhat sad, harsh upbringing, for he is a bastard and murderer and a sinner, to the eyes of so many of the town’s people.

He devotes himself to church from a very early age, then, given that a life of servitude is all that’s left for him. He applies himself to his studies, tries his best to be good and kind, even when receiving such hatred, and he works hard to achieve some sort of recognition in life. Deep inside his chest, Jon still wishes to make his father proud, despite the odds, a childish dream to have about someone as rotten as Rhaegar, still he makes sure he’s ever the obedient son, the devoted student, and the supportive brother. His stepmother Elia treats him with a kindness that lacks on his father, and Jon is grateful for her, even when she can’t go against Rhaegar’s wrath. The town’s priest, Father Mormont, is fond of Jon and shows him a compassion unknown to him, compared to how the other residents of Snowfall have treated the Targaryen bastard over the years. His sister Rhaenys, nine years his senior, pays him little attention, not from a place of indifference, but because her duties as a young lady keep her busy for most of the day. Still, she’s always gentle when speaking to him, and she tries her best to intervene whenever their father decides to torment him somehow. _Beatings,_ he tells Jon, _are good for a man’s character._ His brother Aegon is only older by a few months, and that’s the one thing they have in common. Aegon is fair, both in skin and hair, the curls on his head looking almost white from their paleness. Jon’s hair is a deep brown color, almost black, and his skin tans easily in the sun, where Aegon’s burns to a bright pink if exposed for too long. The Targaryens are known for their violet eyes, and Aegon is no different. Jon has his mother’s eyes, a stark grey serving as the definitive proof that he is indeed a bastard. With that, he grows up, watching as his brother is favored in everything, yet never once resenting him. Jon loves his brother very much, and even if he wishes he could trade places with him, he wouldn't do it, not really. Not because he doesn’t long for what Aegon has, but because he would never put his fate on anyone, especially not on someone who’s dear to him. It’s a solitary life, being a bastard in Snowfall, being despised and looked down on, being shown so closely all of the things he could have if only his last name was different, if only he hadn’t been born out of lust and sin. But Jon gets used to it, tries his best to make peace with his fate, tries his hardest not to hate his family, not to resent God for the life that’s been given to him, and everyday he succeeds.

Everyday until his brother’s bride arrives at Snowfall.

He is thirty when Aegon gets engaged to a young woman from a nearby city. Sansa Stark is her name, and she must be from a good family because Rhaegar is proud and wouldn’t have his son and heir getting married to someone beneath their status. His brother tells him she’s an orphan, and possesses quite the sum under her name. Jon is surprised to see him care for such things, as the Targaryen fortune is already something big, but it seems like the rich are always after more. This matters little to him, since he won’t be getting anything after his father passes. A bastard has close to no rights in Snowfall, and he knows that his father is less than likely to leave him any amount of money or property on the will. _Just another reason to join the church,_ he thinks. The Lord shall be his home until the day he dies, and the parish shall provide the necessary for him to survive. He makes his peace with it the same as he has with everything else in his life, and even as a bitter taste lingers in his mouth he thinks he's gotten used to being denied by now.

Up until he meets _her._

By the time Miss Stark arrives at Snowfall, Jon has already taken his place as the town’s priest. Father Mormont dies during the harsh winter and Jon celebrates the funeral. He then does what is expected of him, and assumes his position as Father Snow, meaning he will be the one to celebrate his brother’s wedding. That seems to please both Aegon and Rhaegar, and Jon takes some pride in that, some pride in knowing that for once his father seems to be content with the path life has chosen for him. He now lives at the church, in a small room at the back, holding little to no possessions, and he celebrates mass and baptisms and weddings and funerals and the people of Snowfall treat him with a strange sort of respect that he’s not used to receiving. He understands that it’s because of his title but he can’t forget the faces of those who once despised him when his only crime had been to exist. Seeing the dutifulness and the reverence to which they treat him with only serves to awaken a darkness inside his chest, a sense of disgust and rage towards those who he means to look out for. He pushes it down, tries to suppress those feelings, prays to God for enlightenment, but even his prayers seem shallow. He contents himself with providing fake smiles and empty words as he is surrounded by good wishes from those who once despised him. Yet he knows his place and his duties amongst their small community and there he stays, performing like he is expected to, the darkness in his heart growing stronger everyday, until it threatens to burst out at the sight of _her_.

Sansa Stark arrives during spring, with hair as red as a ripe apple and eyes as blue as the sky after a storm. Her skin is pale and covered in light freckles, seeming soft to the touch, her figure small and slim, hands looking so delicate and gentle as only a lady could have. She’s in black from head to toe, still mourning the loss of her parents, and an older brother too, Jon later finds out, and she looks fragile somehow, as if the world is too frightening and any more misfortune might be the thing that breaks her. Still, she’s there, radiant under the sun, standing outside the Targaryen residence with her hands clasped tightly against the handle of her small suitcase, the rest of her belongings still on the way to town. Jon is left with no air in his lungs at the sight of her beauty, and her presence fills him with a deep longing that is foreing to him. He watches from afar, standing at the entrance of the small church, as his stepmother opens the door and greets the lovely Miss Stark, watches as the woman urges her inside and shuts the door behind them without a glance at his figure. He has to wait until the evening to meet her properly, during a celebratory dinner at the place that was once his home, where he gets to sit across from her on the dining table and listen closely as she talks about herself and her past life. She’s the second eldest to five children. Her older brother has sadly passed along with her parents. Her three younger siblings are doing just fine, being taken care by an uncle until they come of age. Her family owned lots of different animals in their state and she loved all of them, especially the wolves. _Wolves?,_ he asks, astonished, forgetting his manners for a moment. _Yes, wolves, Father. They’re quite the loyal beasts._ The slight blush of her cheeks leaves him wondering in a way that he shouldn’t, and for a moment the darkness inside him grows stronger, and it pushes him to be bold. _Please, call me Jon. We are to be family soon._ Her blush intensifies, and it’s easy to get lost in the beauty of her, to forget for a moment that there’s three others at the table with them, including her future husband. _Alright, then, but you must agree to call me Sansa._ And he does as he is told, her first name on his lips, a gentle tone whenever they meet during the day, because he can only be gentle with her, a hushed whisper whenever he is alone in his room at night, taking himself in hand, the image of her blush still present in his mind. He lies in bed, eyes closed, hand around his cock, moving slow and softly, as he imagines her touch to be. He thinks about her on that first day, her name on his lips, picturing just how far down her body will that pretty pink blush go if she ever becomes aware of his actions. _Sansa, Sansa, Sansa._ He whispers to himself, again and again, her name more sacred to him than any prayer, and when he comes, his hot seed spilling over his stomach, is with the certainty that life without her has no meaning, and he resents his path every day, resents his father, resents God, resents himself and his bastard name, the name that ensures he’ll never be worthy of such a heavenly creature as Sansa.

Yet God has a way of writing straight with crooked lines, and a year later Jon still whispers her name, over and over and over, with the same amount of devotion, perhaps even more, except now he whispers it against her skin. His lips can’t seem to leave her, his mouth desperate for her taste, and he worships her in the only way he knows how to, with his tongue and hands and cock. She lays bare beneath him, body arching slightly from the bed, legs wrapped tightly around his hips, soft mewls escaping her as he buries himself deeper inside her cunt. They’re alone in the house, except for the ghosts that might haunt the walls, but Jon cares little for them. He cares little for anything these days, anything but his sweet Sansa. She is his now, ever since the passing of his brother, his to take care of, and he intends to do his best by her, in the same way she does by him. In the morning, he attends his duties at the church, playing his part so the people of Snowfall remain clueless of his less than appropriate actions, and at night, he attends different duties, in Sansa’s bed, whispering her name relentlessly and giving her anything and everything she might ask of him. She shall want for nothing while he lives, shall endure no more suffering and no more pain and especially no more fear, and he intends to shield her from any misfortune that might still come their way, as well as provide her with whatever it is she needs to get by. He tells her all this after the funeral, after they're done burying his father and brother, after his stepmother leaves to live with his sister, he tells Sansa that she doesn't have to share this loss alone, that he will be there for her, in any way she wants, he'll be there and he'll do his best to be a man worthy of her.

It just so happens that what Sansa needs is what he's more than willing to give.

It should fill him with shame, he thinks, to behave like this. It should fill him with shame and regret and it should make him want to kneel before the altar and repent, but it doesn't. Not that he doesn't enjoy kneeling, no, he enjoys it very much so, and he does it often, spreading Sansa's thighs open with his rough hands, his mouth eager to taste her sweet cunt. The church has taught him how to truly be devoted to something, and Jon has found that there is true holiness in worshipping a goddess. He understands that he should view her as the snake that came to ruin him, as the temptation that came to divert him from his path, but he can only look at her and find that she is what heaven is supposed to be. In Sansa, he has found acceptance and love, in Sansa he has found true meaning, and happiness, and a kindness that seems endless, and before her he never thought any of those things would be possible for him but now that he has them, now that he has her, now that he feels like he's truly living, is hard to view their bond as a sin. If it's truly wrong of him to want her, then so be it. Let him burn in hell if it means knowing the taste of her, let him suffer eternal damnation if it means hearing her whisper his name under her breath as he moves inside her, as he worships her body in a way once so foreign to him. _Jon, Jon, Jon._ Her voice as sweet as the chant of angels, her touch as light as the feathers from their wings, her eyes so pleading, a silent prayer in them. _Please, Jon._ And with that he's lost, and he spends inside her, the final nail on their coffin, their last step towards an afterlife of punishment, but he really can't be bothered to fear the flames when he's still buried deep inside her, his cock engulfed by her heat, his heart hammering in his chest, stark grey and sky blue meeting before he kisses her again, softly, gently, feeling as her mouth opens in a wicked smile that's meant just for him.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed the read!
> 
> comments are deeply appreciated <3 i'm also on tumblr under this same name if you feel like chatting or sending me a prompt 💜 byeee


End file.
